


The Suicide Prevention Squad

by NotRyanRoss



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Music RPF, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Memory Alteration, Multi, Sibling Incest, Soul Bond, Suicide Attempt, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-05-31 05:17:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6457384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotRyanRoss/pseuds/NotRyanRoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He shrugged. "It's a work in progress, but when certain people try to kill themselves, a part of their soul fractures off to pull them back and becomes a physical, whole other person. Basically, I've been dispatched to be your bodyguard. You're not going anywhere."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Gerard hadn't expected to wake up after he died.Which is to say, he'd expected to _die_ when he killed himself. That was generally what happened when you committed suicide, yeah?

Turns out he couldn't even get that right.

He remembered the last hour of his life, remembered Ray showing him a new tune on his battered acoustic, remembered smoking an entire pack of cigarettes, remembered saying goodbye to Frank, just like he did every day. Of course, Frank knew what he was intending to do- he thought Gerard couldn't see the flash of anger in those astoundingly pretty green eyes at him giving up. Because that's exactly what he was doing, he was giving up. He'd had enough of this bullshit life, this bullshit job, this bullshit _existence._ He'd had enough, and that was that.

He'd come home to his parent's house, empty as usual (it reminded him of himself, empty and uncaring of the mess it was in), and had walked down to the musty basement, as usual. He'd found the hidden bottle of alcohol- whiskey this time, as usual, and drank the whole thing in far too short a time, as usual. He'd torn down a painting he'd spent weeks on, nails catching on the canvas and scratching at the paint, thinking that ironically, it looked better this way anyhow.

As usual, he'd taken the razors out.

 _Not_ as usual, he'd done it with the intention of it being the last time. It was a relief, knowing he wouldn't be doing this again because he wouldn't be _here_ to do it again. It was like being freed, and he was so relieved at the thought of finally ending it all he put on Bowie and turned it down low as he sliced open his veins.

The amount of blood had been surprising, to be honest. It leaked from his wrists like it was a stream, except red and warm like it was alive, and it _was_ alive, dripping onto the cool cement and staining it. He'd watched it with wonder, painting patterns in the blood like it was an artwork. The last artwork he'd ever make: it was rather fitting, really. It was pretty, he'd thought as he laid down in it, feeling the wetness seep into his hair and into the leather of his jacket. It was peaceful, death, he'd thought.

Quiet.

Too quiet.

He missed his friends. Thought of Frank, who was younger but bright as a flame and as firey as one, always coming over to sit and goofily pose for Gerard's drawings, which he cherished. Ray, who was earnest but kind and full of music, absolutely enveloped in that world of notes and magic. Even Bob, who was grumpy as all hell but still there to get the job done when it was needed. He thought of his mom, who was never here and when she was she complained about his job like he could just go out and magically acquire another one that suited her better, like accounting. His father, who was just a shadow in the wind to him but still managed to make him feel terrible about himself.

"I'm so sorry," he croaked, to who, he didn't know. "I just don't want to be _alone_ anymore."

And then the darkness swallowed him whole.

###

That should have been the end.

But, unfortunately, it was only the beginning.

He woke up to a splitting headache and someone playing games on their phone. He _knew_ it was fucking Candy Crush, because that weird Pete Wentz guy had been playing it during work hours and the noise was obnoxiously familiar. The headache was even more so, the kind of ripping at your skull you only got after drinking enough for an entire herd of elephants. Ugh. He tried to open his eyes, found he couldn't because they were all stuck together.

"Ugh," he said out loud, intelligently.

"Do you feel like hell? You should," came a toneless voice from the direction of the Candy Crush noises.

He managed to unglue his eyes with some effort and came across a peculiar sight. He was still in his bedroom, and there was no blood in sight. None. Nothing hurt, either, besides his head and that wasn't right because he'd- he was-

There was a guy sitting on his bed. Definitely younger than him, maybe by a few years or so, with a flat, neutral expression and mousy brown hair that was obviously straightened and stuck up in directions that shouldn't be physically possible on Earth. He was skinny, unbelievably so, and Gerard wondered faintly if his jawline would slice your hands if you touched it. He had a pair of smudged glasses perched haphazardly on his delicate nose, and from the dim light of the phone he could see the shadows of eyeliner around his dark lashes.

Gerard stared for a long time, and finally the guy stared back. His eyes were _pretty_ , flecks of gold and silver and green in the irises and...

Gerard swallowed hard. "Are you Satan?"

He was received with an expression that conveyed how stupid the guy actually thought Gerard was. _Do I look like Satan to you?_

His lips hadn't moved when he spoke; what the _fuck_? "Who are you?"

He got a shrug. "I'm you. Sort of."

"You don't look like me," Gerard said dubiously, although now he looked, he could see the angle of the jaw was the same as what he saw in the mirror, the stance. It was like looking in the mirror except not; this guy looked like something _other_.

"I said sort of. It's more like we're brothers. I'm a separate entity to you."

"I don't get it," Gerard said weakly.

The guy turned off his phone and leaned forward on his elbows, eyes piercing through Gerard. Was it narcissistic that he was weirdly attracted to this guy that was apparently him, but not him? He was really pretty in an awkward sort of way, and Gerard tried not to think too hard about what his lips would taste like.

"You need to stay alive, Gerard Way. Life has got plans for you. I'm here to make sure you don't do anything dumb."

"Wha- _how_?"

He shrugged. "It's a work in progress, but when certain people try to kill themselves, a part of their soul fractures off to pull them back and becomes a physical, whole other person. Basically, I've been dispatched to be your bodyguard. You're not going anywhere."

"So...you're like what, the suicide prevention squad?"

The guy shrugged. "More like the Gerard Way suicide prevention squad, but yeah."

Gerard looked down. _Maybe if I grab the knife in my dresser, he won't have time to stop m-_

_I can hear you, you know. And I already threw the knife away. Along with the blades stashed in your copy of Watchmen and the broken glass under the window._

"How the _fuck_ are you doing that?!"

"We're linked directly by our soul. Your soul. However you want it."

"So...you're not going to let me die," Gerard said finally.

The guy barely blinked. _No._

Gerard sighed. Whatever the fuck was happening, it didn't look like he was dying today. "Do you have a name, O great me who is not me? Or do I just call you Gerard number two?"

His (counterpart? Soul? Who knows) didn't smile, exactly, but his face softened a little around the edges at Gerard's acceptance of his fate. Something in Gerard's own chest lightened a little. "Mikey. Mikey Way."

"Mikey Way. Mikeyway," Gerard repeated, blending the words together.

He shrugged. "Technically you named me. Don't knock it now."

"Right. Okay, alright, we can work around this," Gerard muttered to himself. Mikey blinked at him slowly, the light from the lamp catching glints of gold and silver in his eyes. Again, he didn't smile, but Gerard felt something warm start in his own chest that wasn't something he was actively feeling right now and blinked. Oh. That was Mikey, then. He had mentioned their souls being connected.

"Mikeyway," he repeated.

Mikey made a noise that was somewhere between faint acknowledgement and disgruntlement, and procured the latest copy of Suicide Squad from nowhere, flipping it open. Gerard gaped for a few seconds as he started reading calmly, like this was normal shit, and clearly emotions weren't a thing that weird bodyguard souls had.

Gerard swiped the comic from Mikey's hand, ignoring the displeased pulse in his own chest as he set it down on the bed. Mikey blinked at him. He needed to think about this, needed to talk about it with someone who didn't think this was totally normal.

 _Frank_.

He got up, grabbing his jacket from his computer desk and gave Mikey a reproachful look as the brunette got off the bed to follow. Mikey barely batted an eyelid, just wandered up the stairs like he belonged there. Too late did Gerard remember there were other people that lived in this house.

 _Shit_ , _Mom_!

"Michael James Way," Gerard's mother said crossly as they surfaced from the basement. Gerard had dashed up here as fast as his legs would take him, only to find Mikey blinking at his mother puzzledly. Her arms were folded across her chest in that way purely reserved for children that didn't do as they were told (Gerard).

Gerard blinked at Mikey, whose expression didn't change. Michael James Way?

Mikey, came the silent reply, grumpy.

"It's your turn to do the dishes, boy. Don't think I'm letting you off the hook," Donna Way said.

Mikey looked completely lost, standing there like he didn't know which way was up. It was pretty funny, because up until now he'd been all bravado and sarcasm and when faced with chores he looked utterly bewildered. Gerard realised with a start that Mikey hadn't actually been alive for more than a few hours, and decided it was best to swoop in now and request explainations later.

"We're going to Frank's, Ma, we'll be back for the dishes later," Gerard broke in, pulling Mikey out the front door because it looked like he was just going to stand there. He didn't look back to see his mother's expression, didn't want to because it almost certainly spelt a painful death.

Dishes.

Gerard ignored the faint confusion pulsing at his lungs. It wasn't his to feel anyway, he thought. Having someone else's emotions, even if they were technically him, was weird as all hell. This whole situation was weird as all hell. Maybe Frank would be able to shed some light on the situation: when anything went wrong or just plain strange, Gerard went to Frank. It was routine.

Frank looked different.

"Gee! Mikeyway, hey," he said, opening the door in his boxers and not much else. Gerard averted his gaze to the side, but then he got an eyeful of Mikey staring unabashedly. He sighed and poked Mikey's cheek, redirecting his attention before looking at Frank again. He looked...better than he had yesterday, some kind of light shining in his eyes and the easy tangle of his short hair.

Wait.

Frank knew Mikey too?

"S'up?" Frank raised an eyebrow.

"We need to talk," Gerard said hurriedly, pushing past him into the house. He heard Mikey trail after him as he stomped up to Frank's room with his boots thumping, heard Frank explaining to his mother why exactly a herd of elephants were going up the stairs.

Gerard sat on the bed, looked apprehensively at Mikey as he appeared in the doorway. Mikey didn't show any sort of expression, but something that felt like an echo of anxiety poked at Gerard's chest. Mikey paused for a few seconds and then shuffled over to where Gerard was, standing a few centimeters away. Frank showed up after a few seconds of the two staring, snorted at them and pulled a hoodie over his head.

"What kind of bee's in your ass?"

"That is the worst-"

"Shh. Gee. Why do you look like you've killed someone?" Frank laughed, then looked kind of nervous. "You...didn't actually kill anyone, right?"

"No," Gerard said, exasperated.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Frank. I'm sure."

"Very sure?"

Gerard sighed and Frank giggled, slumped down in the chair at his desk. He motioned with one hand for Gerard to speak, but Gerard was too busy frowning. Frank hadn't been this cheerful since he'd caught him cutting that time. That time he'd told Frank he'd wanted to die, on his sixteenth birthday with the stars glittering above them. That's when Frank had gone downhill, had started going quiet and angry and stopped going out to parties. When he'd stopped talking to Gerard about anything important.

"Frank...do you remember my birthday?"

"Yeah, man. Shit was crazy," Frank said easily.

"Tell me exactly what happened," Gerard ordered.

"We got wicked drunk," Frank answered. "And Mikey scored like, a ton of weed. Man, that was good shit. I can barely remember it."

Gerard turned slightly so he could eye Mikey, who blinked. It's a filter so that people don't drive me away. I'm-

"That shit didn't actually happen, Frank," Gerard cut in, breaking off Mikey's mental explanation. There was a pulse of panic in his chest that wasn't from him.

Frank frowned.

"Think about it," Gerard said. "Do you actually remember anything about Mikey?"

He couldn't see Mikey's expression and look at Frank, but he felt a pulse of something, clawing its way from his chest up to his throat. It felt too much like hurt for him to acknowledge it properly, as something Mikey might actually feel. Probably just heartburn. Frank just looked utterly baffled by Gerard's accusations.

"Sure I do," Frank said irritably.

"Go on," Gerard prompted, when Frank didn't elaborate.

The younger man rolled his eyes and spun around in the office chair. "He's your brother. He's in my year. Brown hair. Face like an ass."

Gerard stifled his amusement at the silent indignation he could feel from the body to the left of him. Nothing about this was funny at all, least of all Mikey's apparent mental abilities. Had he brainwashed everyone Gerard had come into contact with?

"Actual details, Frank. Memories."

"I..."

Frank stopped. Frowned. Gerard could almost see the little wall in his brain cracking. "I..."

Gerard grunted. "Exactly."

"...I'm always high, dude, my memory is shit," Frank offered weakly.

"What did you try to get me to draw after school last Thursday?"

"I wanted a robot pegasus, but you insisted on drawing a unicorn instead," Frank answered immediately, pouting. Then he blinked. "Dude, my memory is fine."

"I know."

"Then why...? Mikey, why can't I..."

Frank was staring over Gerard's shoulder at Mikey, something vaguely suspicious in his expression. Something a little bewildered, a little hurt. Clearly whatever he saw when he looked at Mikey didn't help, because after a few seconds he grabbed his own head and groaned.

"What the fuck, what the fuck?"

"Exactly," Gerard said dryly.

"It's like I can- you're here, but you're not here, why can I remember two versions of the same shit?"

Mikey didn't answer.

Gerard turned to look at him. He didn't look worried, or distressed in the slightest, just maybe a little bored, but the scared squeeze of his own heart said something else. It felt kind of like he was rejecting Mikey even though he wasn't, really. He felt a pang of sympathy at the feeling and had to stop himself from grabbing Mikey's hand. Mikey just met his gaze flatly, not blinking.

"You were going to..."

Gerard turned back, eyed the blood draining out of Frank's face. Looks like Mikey's memory block didn't work as well as it should have, huh. Although, it was curious that Frank looked that mad rather than questioning what was going on, almost like he-

"Fucker," Frank snarled, but not at Mikey, at Gerard. "You fucking cocksucking shitstain, Way!"

Gerard didn't move fast enough to avoid the punch to the jaw he received. Frank was literally buzzing with anger above him, eyes burning with something completely unreadable. His jaw ached. That was going to bruise later for sure. He wasn't so sure what that punch had been for, though, so he just stared up at Frank uncomprehendingly.

"You were going to leave me, you fucking dick," Frank spat out, and now Gerard could see the tears in his eyes.

_"What the fuck, Way?"_

_Gerard jerked away from the blade in his hand, nearly falling off the roof in the process. He hadn't actually considered the possibility that someone might have shown up on his birthday; Ray was playing a show, Otter was being kind of an ass, that girl from Chemistry gave him the creeps. Blood splattered on his jeans from the sudden movement and he hissed as the cuts on his wrist stung. Dammit. These were the only clean jeans he had._

_Frank hauled himself up onto the roof properly, eyes wide with shock and...hurt? Why did he look like someone had kicked a puppy? Surely it wasn't that surprising that he hurt himself- everyone else did it, why shouldn't he? Gerard couldn't move from the shock as Frank stalked over to him and unceremoniously threw the blades off the roof. He just stared up at Frank, who had a bruise high up on his cheek and a smidgen of blood under his lip._

_"What the fuck was that."_

_It wasn't even a question. Even if it had been, Gerard didn't know how to answer it._

_"I..."_

_Gerard didn't know what to say, didn't know how to explain that he'd been doing this for years, ever since that boy from his sports class kicked him in the stomach and told him to die. He curled his still-bleeding wrists closer to his chest, away from Frank's razor-sharp stare. Surely Frank wouldn't...do something drastic? God, what if he told Gerard's parents? They wouldn't let him live in the basement anymore and he'd be put in an asylum or-_

_Frank just let out a heavy sigh and sat down next to him. When Gerard sneaked a peek at his face, all he could see were the shadows around Frank's face. He looked away and huddled in on himself, staring up at the night sky. After a few moments, Frank did the same._

_"Is this a...normal thing for you?"_

_Gerard blinked. "Yeah."_

_"Oh."_

Gerard held his hand to his jaw and flinched as Frank raised his fist again, but Mikey had already pushed in between them, something cold and frightening resounding in Gerard's chest. He couldn't see either of their expressions but the emotions rolling off of them was almost palpable.

"Don't touch him again," Mikey said flatly.

"And who the fuck _are_ you? Some kind of mind-fucker?"

"I'm Gerard's...brother."

"Then why can't I remember anything about you?"

"Because I'm...when he tried to kill himself, he sort of summoned me. To keep him alive."

"But he tried to kill himself, why didn't he just...die?"

Gerard flinched.

"Because he doesn't actually want to die," Mikey answered, cold. "He's depressed and needs help, and it's not like you did anything at all besides yell at him."

Gerard couldn't see Frank's eyes but he could hear the hurt in his voice at this accusation, true as it might have been.

"I just..." Frank sounded lost. "What could I have even done?"

"Doesn't matter. What could you be doing now? Aside from punching the depression out of him," Mikey said, sharp.

Frank didn't reply immediately and Mikey stalked out of the room, aggravation pushing at Gerard's heart.

Frank looked at Gerard. "Your brother, huh?"

"Yeah. Technically he's my soul or something," Gerard answered heavily. "He means well."

"I can see that," Frank agreed, sitting down next to Gerard and leaning against him.

Gerard dropped a kiss on his hair, breathing in the smell of weed and deodorant and closing his eyes briefly.

He couldn't see the resemblance, to be honest.


	2. Chapter 2

He'd been dragged out of the basement by Frank's pleading with him to watch a show. Gerard didn't even know Frank was in a band, and he realised depressingly that he didn't make any effort to get to know his own friends. He loved them more than life but he didn't listen to anything any of them ever said and that was kind of terrible in itself. So he put on the smallest amount of eyeliner, pulled on his boots and made his way out.

"Where are you going?"

Gerard's question was sound; Mikey wasn't even a real person, sort of, and he hadn't noticed his brother in the last few months either. He hadn't attempted suicide but he continuously locked himself in the basement, and it hadn't occured to him that Mikey might do something rather than wait for him. And here his soul/brother/guard thing was, in skinny jeans with his hair ironed flat, a smear of eyeliner around tawny eyes. A burst of something hot echoed in Gerard's chest as their gazes met, and he couldn't tell if it was from him or Mikey.

"I'm going to see Pencey Prep's show," Mikey answered.

"Who?"

"Frank's band."

"Oh," Gerard said, because he hadn't even known the band's name. "Okay. Me too."

_I'm glad you're going out._ "Want a ride?"

_I'm doing my best._ "Sure."

And Frank's band was good, loud and screaming and Gerard could feel Frank through the music like he could feel Mikey through their bond. He was angry and sad and vibrant and _Frank_. The crowd was as captivated as Gerard was by the little punk kid on the stage. Sweat stuck his hair to his cheeks and smeared his eyeliner beyond repair and he screamed along with Pencey even though he barely knew the words, it didn't matter. It was the emotion, the rawness of the music that made it magical.

He felt Frank more than he had in months through this one concert, could feel the frustration at conformity and society and the hatred for giving up, the incoherent desire to live, and Gerard thought, maybe that was it. Maybe he didn't want to die, maybe he wanted to _live_.

When Mikey came over to check on him, hot and sweaty and _Mikey_ , Gerard leaned in close and whispered, "I want to do that."

"Then do it," Mikey said, like it was that easy, and the funny thing was that it was.

###

Gerard put his hands on a blade again in late 2000.

Mind you, he'd barely got his fingers around the shining metal before there was a jolt in his stomach, the stifling press of emotion that wasn't his. Gerard understood that Mikey didn't want him to die because they were weirdly related and all, but he didn't understand why he could feel Mikey's fear. He was _scared_. Why was he scared of Gerard dying? Gerard didn't put down the blade, but he didn't use it either, just sat in the dark holding it. A few seconds later there were quick footsteps tapping down the stairs and Mikey appeared, hair stuck up from sleep and glasses missing.

Gerard didn't move. Mikey was just here to thwart him, he didn't _understand_. There was nothing here, and he was _tired_. So tired of having to face the world every day, of failing at everything, of being alive. He just wanted it all to end rather desperately. He blinked at Mikey owlishly, wishing with all his heart he could just _die_.

_I just want it all to go away, please let me go._

_I can't._

Mikey sighed, a tiny huff of breath that was audible in the silent room, and walked over to the bed. Gerard didn't resist as he pulled the blade away and wandered over to the window to toss it out. The moonlight hit Mikey at an angle, illuminating one bare shoulder and hinting at a spine. The rest of him was in darkness as he turned to eye Gerard again, and he didn't look particularly upset but the hard squeeze in Gerard's chest said otherwise.

"Go to sleep," Mikey said, not unkindly.

Gerard looked at the clock and hey, it was three am already. "I can't."

"Yes you can."

Gerard opened his mouth to protest but Mikey was already pushing him down onto the bed. He went, because he wasn't quite sure what was going on when Mikey rolled over him to lay down as well. Gerard snuck a peek at his soul's counterpart and had to hold his breath, because Mikey was lying on his side with his hair a debauched mess and his eyes sleepy but alert, wearing a singlet and a pair of grey boxer-briefs. Gerard blinked at him, still puzzled because while Mikey still followed him around his brother was usually huge on space. But here he was, close enough that his warmth could be felt on Gerard's side.

"Were you really part of me?"

"Yeah."

"But not anymore. You're...you."

"Mm."

Mikey was never going to be much of a talker. "Are you gonna get old? Do you...like, want a family? Kids?"

"I'm mortal, Gerard. I age just like you. But no. My job is to look after you."

"Oh," Gerard said, and that was it.

"I'm trying really hard, Mikes," he said a moment later, trying to ignore the burn of tears in his eyes. The nickname slipped out without his consent; try as he may, Mikey was still the only solid thing in his life.

Mikey blinked slowly and then a tiny glow of warmth settled in between Gerard's ribs. He'd gotten used to the ghostly shimmer of Mikey's emotions echoing inside him, even when Mikey was somewhere else. Gerard wasn't going to admit it was comforting, but he closed his eyes and curled closer, pressing his forehead against Mikey's bare shoulder.

"I know you're trying," Mikey said. "Thank you."

Gerard let out a shaky sigh.

###

Gerard looked under the boxes in the van again, tipping them backwards. He was sure he'd stashed a couple of blades somewhere here. It had been under the box full of guitar picks, he was sure. The others were at the studio. They were missing. Weird. His hands closed around a pair of scissors someone had left instead, and before he could stop himself Gerard had dragged the scissors down the flesh of his inner elbow. It didn't work the way he wanted, though, made a weak graze and the barest well of blood. He scratched at the skin with his bitten nails, tore at it desperately until there was scraps of flesh under his nails and blood smeared on his fingertips.

It hurt, but it didn't _hurt_ , and that ache in Gerard's chest got stronger and panic gripped him. Where the _fuck_ were those blades?

"Looking for something?"

Gerard turned to find Frank waving a razor blade, _his_ razor blades, at him. Frank had one hand on his hip and he was tilting to the side slightly like he was being weighed down by the metal between his fingertips. It was weird, seeing him without the dreadlocks, but he didn't have that cloying scent of weed as much anymore and that was nice, too. It made his eyes look sharper in his face, more focused. Kind of angry. And oh, he looked very angry right now. Furious.

Probably because Gerard hadn't had a relapse since My Chem had become a reality, but his laying on the floor of the van scratching and tearing at his flesh was definitely a setback. Frank had been so happy when Gerard had started smiling again, but it was _hard_. He was disappointing Frank _again_ , and Mikey's appearance had distorted Frank's memory enough that there were less wary looks, less anger. But here it was again.

"Frank," he started.

"This what happens when your brother gets distracted?"

"I-"

"He flipped out in the studio," Frank snapped. "We had to lock him in the recording room. Otter was going to call 911."

Gerard froze. "Is he okay?"

"No thanks to you," Frank replied, eyes hard. "You made this band, Gee. You dragged us here, recruited me after all that shit with Pencey and, and _you_ , and we thought you were _trying_."

"I _am_ trying, but-"

"I don't care, Gerard," came the weary reply. "You don't even think about us, do you? Mikey's too nice to say shit, or he thinks it'll send you off the edge, but you're not just killing yourself, you selfish fuck."

"I-"

"Go see Mikey. Reassure him that you're not _dead_. I'm putting these in the trash, and if you put even one more in the van I'm going to throw you out."

That was a bit weird, because it was Gerard's band and not Frank's, but whatever. He ran. He ran because Mikey was solid and steady and his brother/soul/guard shouldn't be so upset because he was the rock of their relationship, he was solid and secure and Gerard couldn't leave him. He skidded into the studio and smacked his face on the door, greeted by a pale-faced Ray.

"I don't know what's wrong with him," Ray fretted. "He's usually so- Gerard?"

Gerard ignored him and unlocked the door, sliding in and shutting it again.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust because there wasn't much light in the recording space, but eventually his eyes landed on a figure curled up in the corner. Mikey wasn't moving, but Gerard realised absently that it felt like someone was slowly cutting at his heart with a knife and that was far worse than any crying. It hurt, it hurt him and it must have hurt Mikey worse than dying. He could feel the burning, feel the fear and anguish and pain and it had never been this strong.

He dropped to his knees and crawled towards Mikey, his brother's unshed tears rolling down his own face. Mikey lifted his head the barest inch but his eyes were dead and Gerard wasn't entirely sure that Mikey was still in there. He grabbed at Mikey, got a handful of shirt and another handful of hair and pulled him close enough that their chests were together and Gerard's nose was pressed against Mikey's cheek. It was messy and he wasn't entirely sure Mikey wasn't crying as well because they were a mess of snot and tears and became glued together almost immediately.

"I'm- I- _Mikey_ ," Gerard sobbed. "Please, I'm just- just let me _go_ ,"

"I can't," Mikey whispered back, barely inaudible.

Gerard clutched his brother tighter, closed his eyes tightly and tried to breathe because he couldn't kill himself if this was what he'd leave behind. Mikey was his kid, his baby brother, and it hadn't been many years but it was enough.

"I'll- okay, I'm not- I'm not going anywhere, shh," he croaked, petting a hand through Mikey's hair.

Mikey sucked in a tight, shuddering breath. "Promise?"

He sounded like he didn't believe Gerard, but Gerard himself couldn't shake the hurt fear in his chest. "Promise, Mikes, promise."

Mikey smiled against his lips, a weak little thing that warmed Gerard's heart a little and brought a fresh wave of tears and snot. They weren't kissing, it wasn't even close, but there was still a flutter in Gerard's stomach that wasn't Mikey's and wasn't from tears.

###

"Mikey, hey, try this."

The room was kind of swooping and changing colours even as Gerard held out the red solo cup to his brother. He couldn't see Mikey too well but he could sense him on the edge of his vision, could see the impression of brown hair and denimclad legs. He seated himself inbetween Mikey's thighs, released the cup when Mikey accepted it.

"Tastes like shit," Mikey said after a moment, but he kept drinking it.

"Yeah." Gerard fought through the haze in his brain to smile vaguely. "We're gon' be famous, Mikes."

"Yeah," Mikey agreed easily, winding an arm over Gerard's chest so he didn't fall off the couch.

"Love you, Mikes," Gerard tried to say, but it was too slurred to be understandable. Mikey laughed, warm and a little disoriented-sounding- he was just as trashed as Gerard was. Sure, they'd be sick in the morning, but only if they actually sobered up. It was nice in this world, no concept of death, just weed and alcohol and maybe a little ecstasy to keep Gerard warm. He settled closer to Mikey, nudged his brother's firm jawline with his nose and kissed at his chin.

"Love you, Gee," Mikey answered after a moment.

Gerard hummed happily, vaguely aware he was sliding to the side and onto the floor, dragging Mikey with him. They fell in a lazy sprawl, Mikey on top of him and hot and safe, and Gerard giggled. He could feel Mikey's boner against his spine, heavy and...interesting. Gerard shifted back against it and Mikey made a soft noise that he liked, so he did it again.

"-s'it good?"

"Mm, no," Mikey murmured in his ear warmly, so Gerard twisted around so they were facing each other and smiled up at him instead.

"Okay," Gerard said, because oh well. "Love you."

"Love you too," Mikey said, and that was that.

###

Bert McCracken was...interesting.

Gerard was barely awake half of the time The Used's tour bus became his second home, stuck in that weird place between reality and hallucination and sleep. He didn't know which way was up and Bert didn't help him with that, was just as fucked up as he was. Bert understood when he said he wanted to die sometimes, agreed when Gerard said the world was sideways and rubbish. Bert didn't treat him like he was fragile and beautiful like a butterfly that had fallen, an angel that had crashed to earth, not like Mikey.

He missed Mikey sometimes.

But if they were brothers, well...hooking up probably wasn't a good thing, and that was the way things were going. Gerard still got off at night with one hand over his chest where he could still feel Mikey faintly, hot and panting and confused. They still spoke, but it wasn't the same way it had been. It was more like they'd grown so close they were growing apart.

Bert had been a welome distraction. While Mikey allowed the drinking and participated because Gerard asked for it, Bert encouraged complete destruction. Something in the man actively seemed to come alive at the way Gerard was fraying at the edges, coming apart in a way entirely different to the way he had tried before. He wasn't used to being called a slut by his partner, or a whore, or any kind of slur, really, but he liked that too. Liked being treated like dirt on the bottom of Bert's shoe because if Bert was doing it Gerard didn't have to.

"Would you kill me, if I asked?"

Bert chuckled, pressed their sweaty foreheads together. "Yeah."

"Cool," Gerard said, accepting the bottle of vodka pushed into his hand. He didn't acknowledge the way his hand shook dangerously, the way he could feel Mikey's bond weakening. He didn't wonder what his band was doing, didn't care because it wasn't time for the show so it didn't matter. He took a swig and savoured the burn, closed his eyes when Bert yanked his greasy hair to the side.

"Want to have a little fun?"

"No," Gerard answered.

"Yeah you do, you fucking whore."

"...okay, Bert."

###

Gerard realised in 2004 this wasn't working.

"I'm cutting myself off," he said, standing up, pale and shaky. He swayed to the side and nearly fell over abruptly, only stopped by Frank's steady hands on him. He coughed, knelt back over the toilet bowl to purge his body of all that alcohol. His insides burned, slid around dangerously and it made Gerard choke out a painful sob. A warm hand smoothed down his sweaty back and Gerard wanted Mikey but he had Frank who was entirely more stable and safe.

And that was it, Frank was safe.

Gerard wiped at his face roughly, looked back at Frank's expression. It was- there was still a bubble of anger, but there was something softer in his face that hadn't been there before. Frank looked...proud.

"I'm not doing this anymore, Frankie, I'm gonna die," Gerard whispered.

Frank smiled, and it should have been offensive but Gerard knew it was because Frank was hoping he'd try to live again. He shuddered and his abdominal muscles jumped painfully, trying to get rid of everything in his system even though there was nothing for him to give up. Frank smoothed a hand over his hair, ignoring the grease and the smell. Oh, the smell. Gerard could smell himself and it wasn't good at all.

"Ugh," Gerard croaked.

"You'll get through it," Frank said confidently.

"Will I?"

"Yep."

"I'm gonna break up with Bert," Gerard added, nearly inaudible.

Frank kissed his sweaty forehead. "Feeling brave, hey?"

"Yeah," he answered.

###

Needless to say, Bert hadn't been happy.

Gerard had stammered over his words, explained that they couldn't be anything anymore because he was going to be better. Bert didn't understand, was still stuck in that world of senseless destruction, and that was probably what made the other man swing at Gerard. Gerard had ducked, although weakly, and crumpled to the floor painfully because he was still aching from throwing up his internal organs for the past week. Bert had raised his foot to stamp down on Gerard's neck, and there had been a flash of black and red and Bert had disappeared from view.

Gerard had sat up in time to see Frank baring his teeth in a snarl and his fist crushing into Bert's nose. Bert swore at him, bleeding profusely and Frank spat in his face and continued punching him. And shit, Gerard wasn't a defenceless maiden but this protectiveness made his heart skip a beat, the idea that Frank would protect him even after all the shit Gerard pulled over the years.

"Fuck, what the _fuck_ , Iero, got a new boyfriend, huh? Bet you're fuckin' him every day, let him pretend you're his little baby brother? Guess what, he doesn't love you, he's just a fucking _whore_ ," Bert cackled.

Gerard froze.

Frank didn't.

"Fuck you, McCracken, he's not my boyfriend," he spat before knocking Bert out.

Needless to say, Bert probably wasn't resurfacing for a while. Frank got out of it with a split lip and a black eye, and he and Gerard slipped off The Used's bus to find some ice. Bert's words still echoed in Gerard's mind, and he wondered what exactly he'd told Bert McCracken while he wasn't even conscious. Frank curled an arm around his waist and smiled, wide and happy, and Gerard's heart fluttered.

_...let him pretend you're his little baby brother?_

_###_

"Where...where's Mikey?"

Frank smoothed down Gerard's hair, pushed it off his face. He looked hesitant, probably because Gerard had a violent cold and so did Frank and they were curled up in the same cramped bunk, and now was not the time to ask about one's brother. Not to mention Frank's constantly running nose and the way it was dripping on Gerard's hoodie and they were disgusting but together and that was good. They were both sick and basically delirious and it had just occured to Gerard that he hadn't seen Mikey in a long time.

"Gee..." Frank started, and then stopped.

Why was he being so hesitant?

"Frank," Gerard rasped, and that was when he felt the emptiness in his chest. He couldn't _feel_ Mikey and nausea rose up and choked him and Frank tried to quiet him gently. But he couldn't, he was sick and worried and Mikey wasn't here, he was sober and Mikey wasn't _here_.

"Frank, where the _fuck_ is my brother?"


	3. Chapter 3

Mikey Way was fucked up, plain and simple.

Fucked up in so many ways.

He'd been born into the world as pure defiance, a will to live that had coalesced into a human being. That's all he could define it as. He remembered things he'd never done, places he'd never seen. He existed to protect Gerard Way, that was all. He existed _for_ Gerard Way. Mikey didn't really consider himself to be a real person, with real person thoughts and feelings. He wasn't a real person, he was just there to make sure Gerard got to _live_. He didn't even have any separate likes or dislikes from Gerard. He wasn't entirely sure he had any likes and dislikes even with Gerard.

That is, until 2005.

Pete Wentz was an anomaly Mikey hadn't been expecting.

###

Gerard's emotions were a torrent in the pit of Mikey's stomach but it wasn't like he could complain because Gerard was _alive_. Mikey didn't like the alcohol, didn't like the loss of control it had on people. But Gerard would stumble over, sit something in Mikey's lap and Mikey would drink it because Gerard was alive. He ignored the constant bouts of nausea, the way he'd wake up in peculiar spots and the way Gerard would come over, smear his eyeliner and walk off again. He had to stop caring to learn to care, and most of his days were spent staring out a window, completely unsure of who he was or what he was supposed to do.

He knew the exact moment Gerard broke up with Bert McCracken, felt a snarl bubble up from his chest even though he was too far away to do anything. He'd tried, had run out of the bus and nearly knocked over his tech in the process, but. He felt _it_. He felt the flutter of butterflies in his stomach because of Frank fucking Iero swooping in to save the damn day, and he should have known. Frank and Gerard were Frank and Gerard after all, and Mikey was a guard, not a...romantic, or whatever they called it. He felt it when Gerard realised he had feelings for Frank, stared blankly at a wall. He didn't care. As long as Gerard was happy and alive, he was here.

He still went through the motions of being a real live person, but he felt like something was missing that he couldn't put a name to. There was no way of telling what was wrong; he'd assumed it was his brother but there was nothing wrong there. That left a loss. He then followed Gerard's initial way of thinking to fill the emptiness, picked up the nearly-full bottle of vodka and knocked it back, let the burn fill him up and burn him. He kept drinking until his mind was floating, until there was nothing but a dim haze of colour and noise rattling his senses.

He couldn't feel anything or anyone anymore and he found himself in the yellowed grass next to the van, heartbeat noticeably slowing. Curious. Perhaps it would just stop, one of these days. There'd just be silence instead of that infernal thumping. Maybe he could just disappear in this moment, melt into nature, he couldn't tell. Everything was muted and grey and there wasn't quite enough oxygen to breathe. But it was absolutely _fine_ like this. It was good, like this he could just melt away. It kind of hurt but it was fine. It'd be okay.

A sharp slap edged with a pained fear slamming into the center of his chest brought him back. _Ow._

He opened his eyes again and everything was in colour but it was still grey, all at once. Gerard's bright hazel-green eyes were staring right at him, shocked and a little frightened-looking in his nearly-white face, and Mikey could feel Frank's presence hovering behind him. Why was he so worried? Gerard looked fine, a little pale maybe, but he wasn't hurting himself, so why could Mikey feel those same emotions he felt when Gerard tried to kill himself? He felt fingers clench tightly on his wrist, tried to get his eyes to focus properly. Ugh, he wanted it to _stop_. Why would it just _stop_?

"What the fuck was that," he heard Gerard say, voice strained.

"Is he breathing? He has a pulse, he has to be breathing. Fuck." Frank's reply was rough, concerned. So that's who's hand was on him. Shouldn't his hands be on Gerard?

"I think so, I mean, he's- Mikey? Mikes, hey," Gerard's voice cracked as Mikey managed to look at him properly.

Sometimes he wished he looked more like Gerard because _wow_. How did someone get so broken up inside and still manage to be that beautiful? He was fucking _breathtaking_ , with his matted hair and stained sweater, and Mikey couldn't resist splaying his fingers weakly on Gerard's cheek. He had the weirdest urge in his brain, like part of him thought he could just go _back_ to being part of his brother. If only it worked like that. Gerard immediately covered Mikey's trembling hand with his own and steadied it, turned his head to press his lips to Mikey's fingertips.

"Shit, thank goodness. I think he's just trashed," Frank said. "He smells like he swam in a bar."

"Hi," Mikey acknowledged Gerard but not Frank, the word barely audible. It didn't sound right; his voice was too rough, too empty.

"What happened? Are you okay?"

Mikey tried to shrug, failed miserably. His limbs weren't really working right now, and he felt utterly useless. He just wanted it all to _stop_. Everything could just stop and it would be fine. Gerard didn't need a fucking bodyguard anymore. He must have said something odd in their link, because Gerard's eyes went wide and startled, and he jerked away like he'd been burned. Mikey didn't try to ask him what he'd felt, watched through half-open eyes as he stumbled to his feet. Frank made a confused noise and Gerard was leaving, and Mikey was far too numb to even hazard a guess at what his brother was feeling.

"How much did you drink? Mikey. Hey."

Why was Frank still here? He was supposed to be looking after Gerard. Gerard was probably confused, or scared, or something. Frank was supposed to be _helping_ , for fuck's sake. Mikey waved a hand in the direction his brother had gone, tried to glare at Frank but couldn't. Where the fuck had his glasses gone? He should... just... not have those anymore. He didn't have any mystical powers or anything but he could probably fix his shitty eyesight if he tried hard enough. That'd be nice. Maybe he'd try it when his brain didn't feel like it was floating up out of his body. He waved at Frank again, more violently when the younger tried to give him water, pointed off into the distance.

"G'rard," he said, rather eloquently.

He heard Frank's heavy sigh. "Gerard's not the one that's-"

"Gerard," Mikey repeated, firmer this time.

Frank sighed heavily again (and he sounded resigned, why did he sound like that when he was talking to _Mikey_?). Mikey felt him get up, walk away, and he was alone again in the dark. Ah, loneliness. Mikey wished he understood what that was. He couldn't feel Gerard again through the haze in his brain, and it was scary but relieving all at once. The film of grey was gone, but the minute silence fell he was rolling over to violently puke up his internal organs. His stomach and throat burned and he nearly landed in the vomit as he laid on his back to suck in air desperately. _Motherfucker_.

He hoped Gerard was feeling alright; he couldn't have seen anything too bad in Mikey's mind, after all. Mikey didn't have bad feelings, he was just here for _Gerard_ and that was all. Gerard would be fine, he had Frank. Frank was there to help Gerard. Mikey was absolutely unnecessary right now, he didn't need to chase his brother around. Gerard had Frank.

Gerard had Frank.

That was all the reassurance Mikey needed, as he ignored the cold pit in his stomach and passed out.

###

It took him a few weeks to notice that Gerard was avoiding him. After all, they lived in a crowded sort of space, it was nearly impossible. And it wasn't like Mikey talked all that much anyway. But somehow he managed it, because Mikey saw him onstage and that was pretty much it. Mind you, he didn't really _see_ Gerard either- he'd fallen and broken his glasses in a drunken escapade again. He didn't really understand why he was being avoided, but he accepted it nonetheless, didn't comment. Ray Toro kept giving him concerned looks, like he was someone to be worried about. He didn't know why.

He was Mikey Way, he wasn't supposed to be feeling anything.

Which is to say, he had absolutely no idea what those odd little pangs he got in his stomach were. Sometimes they'd show up out of nowhere, these sharp flickers of _something_ that happened when Mikey saw Gerard and Frank together. He could feel Gerard's emotions on the side (he was worried but comfortable, writing lyrics with Frank sitting in his lap, suggesting things) but he could feel something else, too. Something _other_. He didn't understand and honestly, he didn't want to. All he wanted was for it to go away. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be a thing he was allowed to be doing.

He didn't really want to be on tour with other bands, other people who were happy because they had friends and lovers and all that shit. Warped 2005 was not Mikey's idea of fun. He was happy enough playing for audiences of ten people, nine of which were drunk and tone-deaf. But My Chemical Romance's fame pleased Gerard, so he wasn't about to complain about it.

But then there was, of course, Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III. What a ridiculous name. Mikey could see why he called himself Pete.

He'd been sitting out on the grass at their first venue, staring off into space because surprisingly, he was sober. It was warm in the sun and he enjoyed the silence. A bee had just sat on a half-dead daisy when the guy sat next to him. Mikey glanced at him, then looked away disinterestedly. Just another supposedly friendly musician, he guessed. Other people had tried talking to him before and they were always put off by his standoffishness. It was great. There were a few minutes of silence- Mikey thought he had won again, and then the guy spoke, cheerful and oblivious.

"Hey, you're from My Chem, right? Mikey Way? I'm Pete, Pete Wentz, from Fall Out Boy."

Mikey turned back to have another look. Fall Out Boy and My Chem were supposed to be related in some odd musical way. He'd listened to the CD. He wasn't about to mention that he'd liked the lyrics far more than he should have.

Pete was ridiculously and completely _pretty_ to Mikey, astonishingly. Something fluttered in Mikey's chest; Frank must be doing something to Gerard. His hair was spiked up messy and dark but it looked unimaginably soft, too, like you could run your fingers through it all day. His eyes were almost shining in the sunlight, the colour of cheap whiskey, and they were lined dark and messy. He was shirtless, sporadic tattoos that meant nothing to Mikey along his arms and a chain of thorns around his neck, and his fingernails had chipped black polish on them, tapping his knee idly.

Mikey tried not to stare, tried not to imagine what he looked like to Pete. He didn't know what to say.

"You do a good job up there," Pete continued happily. "I'm a big fan. Us bassists have got to stick together, y'know? Professional work, that stuff."

"I'm not a professional."

"Neither am I, Mikeyway," Pete answered with a loud, honking laugh that startled him. Jesus Christ.

_Mikeyway._ Gerard had called him that, once upon a time. Like the words blended together.

"I like you," Pete said cheerfully, patting Mikey's leg. "Come home with me."

"What?"

"I'm not propositioning you, dude. Just want to be buddies."

And just like that Mikey was being dragged back to the Fall Out Boy bus. Pete was completely oblivious to his hesitance, introduced him to his band like someone would introduce their best friend. Patrick Stump seemed wary of Mikey for some reason, but nevertheless apologized for Pete's exuberance. Apparently he was like this all the time. Joe Trohman was lying in a sleepy pile of limbs on the floor, joint in his slack mouth, but waved. Mikey tried not to look like he was trying to breathe in the smoke. Andy Hurley peeked out from the bunks area and waved his drumsticks, friendly and happy enough that Mikey was unsure of what was going on.

The only people he interacted with constantly were his band, and they were never like this. They were kind of nervous around him, unsure because they had no idea what he was thinking, what he knew. This seemed like a big family you'd see on television, with Pete launching himself onto whoever sat still for long enough and Patrick telling him off, Joe laughing at them and Andy watching over them carefully. And Mikey felt that weird pang in his belly again, like it hurt to watch them. Like he was...

###

Patrick gave him a blank look when he noticed Mikey sitting on the couch in their bus with a cup of coffee. Mikey got the impression that maybe Patrick was unsettled by Pete's interest in Mikey, maybe because all that attention had previously been on the singer. Mikey knew that Pete loved Patrick but it wasn't like he could tell either of them that he knew. It obviously wasn't something they spoke about. The thing was, Mikey had seen the scars on Pete's wrists, jagged and pale and he looked at Patrick with some expression he couldn't name.

"I suppose you're going to tell me to be honest with him," Patrick said to the unspoken question.

"That's your choice," Mikey replied. "I told Gerard the minute he woke up."

"I'm not telling him I exist because he tried to kill himself! He doesn't remember and that's how it's _staying_ ," Patrick gritted out.

"Don't you think that's irresponsible?"

Something flashed in Patrick's eyes and Mikey realised with some trepidation that Pete's death wish was enclosed with anger and frustration rather than the blank acceptance and frustrated desire for emptiness Gerard had. Patrick Stump had... _emotions_. Which was strange for Mikey because he'd never seen someone like himself before and he'd been expecting something hard and hurting. Someone that wasn't so human, and now he felt a faint trickle of a chill at his back. Was it just him that was fucked up after all?

Patrick's frown softened. "Mikey, do you ever do anything for yourself?"

Pete. He'd allowed Pete into his life. "I don't need anything for myself, as long as Gerard's okay."

Patrick sat down next to him and Mikey took a moment to catalogue the shiny strawberry blond hair under the hat, the light shine of his eyes. Funny how Patrick looked like Pete's opposite when Mikey and Gerard looked more or less the same. Mikey wondered if it had anything to do with the owner's will at the time. Whether Gerard had wanted someone like himself, when Pete wanted someone who contrasted so strongly against him. It took a moment but Mikey could see it, that grey shimmer in Patrick's irises. He wondered if Patrick could see the same thing in his own.

"It's not just Gerard you need to look after," Patrick said after a moment.

"Then who? Frank?"

"No," there was a flash of frustration, "and I can't teach you anything, Mikey Way."

"You're younger than me."

"Not my point. Mikey, you think all you are is Gerard but...it's not. Some of it _isn't_."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Of course you don't."

"But look at it this way," Patrick said, getting off the couch again and giving Mikey a disdainful look, "if you don't figure it out, maybe there's going to be a different Way brother on the death reports."

The door to the bus shut with a final click and Mikey could only stare at the battered metal blankly. He still didn't _understand_.

###

"Mikeyway, why are you always so sad?"

"I'm not sad," Mikey answered.

Pete snorted, climbed up Mikey's body and rested his chin on Mikey's chest so he could fix his big, dark eyes on him in the near-darkness. Mikey looked back at him blankly. They were out on the roof of Fall Out Boy's bus, which was apparently Pete's new favourite place because they ended up here a lot. Mikey liked the quiet seclusion up there, and he liked looking at the stars (and Pete) so when he was dragged up there he didn't mind. Except sometimes Pete would look right through him, like he knew Mikey better than Mikey knew himself. Like he could feel the echo of Mikey's soul like Mikey could feel Gerard.

"Stop pretending you don't have feelings," Pete said, something in his eyes dark like he knew about this from experience. "You have to start _living_ , or you're gonna die."

"I don't have feelings," Mikey replied. "I'm just...here."

"Just here, huh. What for?"

"My brother."

"Mikey, you're still a person. You're not your brother. And you do so have feelings, you liar."

"No I don't."

Pete raised an eyebrow. "None? Not even when I do this?"

Then Pete was sliding up his body, knees bracketing Mikey's hips and he was kissing Mikey so gently, like he thought one wrong move would make Mikey shatter into a million pieces. It was _nothing_ at all like what he'd felt through Gerard those times with Bert and those nameless strangers. It was sweet and Pete tasted like beer and sunlight and something heady and Mikey was kissing back. His hands found themselves on Pete's waist, shirt ridden up enough so he was touching a warm stripe of bare skin. Pete bit his lip and then Mikey was gasping into the kiss, fingers tightening hard enough to leave bruises.

"Feeling something now, Way?" The words buzzed against Mikey's lips, fizzed down to his chest to sit warm and solid.

"Yeah," Mikey whispered back. It was frightening. He didn't know how, didn't know why, but yeah. Yeah, he felt _something_ , more than something, and now he'd realised all those distinctly _not_ -Gerard emotions were his own. Those emotions were Michael James Way, Mikey, a _person_ with _feelings_. Fucking hell. He wasn't meant to be like this. He wasn't meant to be scared for himself, wasn't meant to be worried about Gerard, wasn't meant to be attracted to Pete.

Pete let out a soft laugh and thumbed away Mikey's tears.

Mikey leaned up to catch his lips again.

###

"I don't want this to be over," Pete said softly, fingers tightening where they were laced with Mikey's.

Mikey breathed out, closed his eyes against the lean plane of Pete's bare chest. The fingers of his free hand splayed out next to his face. He couldn't believe it was the last day. The _last_ day. He'd been absolutely right at the beginning; Warped Tour sucked.

"Love you, man," Pete murmured into Mikey's unwashed hair.

"Love you too," Mikey said tonelessly.

Patrick sighed from outside the bunk and the curtain was drawn aside. Mikey squinted against the morning light with displeasure but Patrick didn't leave it open for long, rolled into the cramped space to lie with them. Mikey shuffled closer to the wall, and he could feel Pete's smile more than see it when Patrick snaked his hand across to link it with Mikey's.

"He's always been for you," Mikey said to Patrick, saw the grey glimmer in his eyes.

"I'd let you join the band and stay if you weren't otherwise attached. You need to talk to Gerard," Patrick replied.

Pete made a puzzled noise and sat up a little, looking between them. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Patrick said firmly.

Mikey nodded and sat up as well, fishing his jeans out from the bottom of the bunk. Pete made a displeased sound but Patrick and Mikey holding hands seemed to intrigue him, at least. Patrick himself gave Mikey a questioning look and Mikey nodded, squeezed his hand lightly.

"'Trick, what's-"

Mikey watched them kiss and couldn't help the tiny smile on his face. He didn't want to go without them, but he couldn't deny they looked right together. Pete's free hand cupped Patrick's cheek gently.

"Bye, Pete," Mikey whispered when they broke it off. Pete's eyes were bright with tears, happiness and confusion all at once.

"Seeya, Mikeyway," he answered, leaning forward to kiss Mikey for what he assumed was the last time. It hurt Mikey in ways he couldn't describe, but he'd known from the start it was going to have to be like this.

"Thank you," Mikey said, and even if Pete didn't completely understand, he did a little bit, and gave him a fragile smile.

Then he left for the My Chemical Romance bus. He couldn't see Gerard, but Frank was sitting on the counter, and he looked at Mikey with something unreadable in his eyes.

Mikey sighed. He missed Fall Out Boy _already_.


	4. Chapter 4

Frank didn't understand the Way brothers. Or, at least, he liked to say that he didn't because maybe he understood them far too well.

Mikey stopped wearing his glasses in 2006. Frank suspected maybe he'd used some sort of funky magic to fix his eyesight, but he couldn't prove it. Ray assumed it was Lasik surgery and the rest of the band didn't argue with him. Frank tried not to think about all that mystical shit- it gave him a migraine. In his head, Mikey was Mikey and Gerard was Gerard, nothing else to it. He was aware they had a bond, he couldn't _not_ know, with finding Gerard crying because 'Mikey was lonely'. The problem was that both of them were far too stubborn to admit maybe their relationship needed fixing, and Frank couldn't change that for them.

He actually felt a physical pain in his chest when they'd pass each other in a hall or something and Gerard would sidestep Mikey and babble something before running away. Frank didn't miss the hurt in Mikey's eyes- he didn't need a bond to tell. It must be hard, when the person responsible for your existence is so tentative towards you. Gerard's realisation that night that Mikey had _feelings_ just like him had sent Gerard into a downwards spiral. Frank suspected he'd never actually considered other people got depressed too, as bad as that sounded.

Frank tried to help him, but he couldn't help thinking that Mikey needed help too, because he'd seen that same look Gerard used to have reflected on his brother. That look of resignation, of _death_.

The amount of times he'd walk onto the bus and catch Gerard rewatching the Ghost of You video was getting to be far too many. He'd hear the television go on, make his way over and find Gerard sitting there, staring vacantly at the screen. Gerard still mouthed the words, watching intently as Mikey died onscreen and he himself screamed. He never cried, never had any sort of reaction, but the entire existence of that video was a disaster. Frank didn't know who's idea it had been for Mikey to die in the video, but it had been a bad one. A very bad one, because now all Gerard could focus on was death, and not even his own.

The Paramour Mansion was when it came to a head.

###

Frank caught Mikey shooting up, drinking, taking some unknown kind of pills. He didn't say anything because he couldn't, because if he said anything Mikey would probably snap. Frank worried than anything he did would make Mikey snap, because that Way brother didn't seem to be feeling particularly friendly towards him. This made him feel even more helpless than when Gerard had been spiralling, because at least Gerard accepted help. Mikey just gave him a blank look and remained on the floor.

"Do you think moving into a haunted mansion to record was a good idea?"

Ray asked the question while they were both sitting there with guitars in hand, just messing around. Frank wondered if they'd ever get anything done without Ray Toro. He looked around the room they were in contemplatively, considering the question. What he wanted to say was too dark, so he sufficed with a simple "no." What he was really thinking was that the Way brothers were the real ghosts haunting the mansion. Ray didn't seem reassured in the slightest but nodded anyway, and launched into a conversation about five-string basses. Frank just let him talk, let him try to pretend everything was okay.

That is, until they both heard the hacking. Ray's eyes went wide the way they always did when something bad happened, but Frank dropped his guitar and sped out of the room.

He was greeted with the sight of Mikey on his back in a pool of what could've been anything from vodka to vomit, coughing weakly. The way he was dragging in breaths didn't seem to be helping him breathe, but the coughing didn't get any louder. He probably didn't have enough oxygen to actually hack a lung. Frank didn't think about how much Mikey would hate him for this, just knelt down beside him quietly. Mikey's eyes were shut tight, ringed with shadows like there was some sort of nightmare gripping him, and Frank smoothed a hand down his ribs, trying to be comforting. Mikey shuddered and made a weak pained noise.

"Roll onto your side," Frank said, helping him.

Mikey coughed, but did as he was told. Frank wasn't sure if he was actually listening or was just on autopilot, but the change in his breathing was almost immediate, and his coughing got louder. Frank patted his back, used his free hand to brush his hair back from his face. He closed his eyes when Mikey threw up again, tried to focus on comforting him. Mikey was shivering uncontrollably, letting out these tiny, barely audible sobbing breaths and every one made Frank's heart crack a little bit. When his breathing was at least a shade of normal, Mikey slumped back against Frank, sticky and exhausted. He still hadn't looked at Frank, but he hadn't expected anything else.

They sat in silence for a while. Frank wondered where Ray had gone. Mikey could've been unconscious for all Frank could tell, but even soaked in filth he was kind of soft and warm, and that worried Frank. Probably because all he wanted to do was wrap Mikey up and keep him away from the world, somewhere _safe_.

"I'll turn on the shower. Do you want to wait here?"

"No," Mikey croaked.

"Okay, okay. Here, stand up slowly."

They managed to make it to the bathroom without any standout incidents, although once Mikey had a coughing fit and they had to stop. Frank let go of him once he was sure Mikey would stay upright against the counter and began the task of testing the water. He assumed Mikey didn't want to talk about what had just happened. They stood in silence for a few minutes, until the water was warm and Frank turned to see if Mikey wanted help. Instead, he was greeted with a stare that he couldn't quite read. A lot of Mikey's expressions were difficult, but this one was just... confused, almost.

"You okay?"

Mikey didn't say anything, and Frank inwardly sighed. Of course he wasn't okay, he'd just indirectly tried to commit suicide. Frank motioned to the shower and raised an eyebrow, and Mikey blinked at him. Hell, he wasn't even on the same planet, was he? Frank didn't even want to know. Instead, he approached Mikey and started unbuttoning his stained shirt, pushed it down his nearly skeletal shoulders. Mikey barely twitched at the touch of Frank's calluses to his bare skin, just continued staring.

"What?"

"'m not G'rard," Mikey mumbled.

"...I know," Frank said. What, did he look stupid?

"'s just...you're..." Mikey trailed off, eyes glazing over slightly.

"Christ," Frank muttered to himself, poking one bony hip to get Mikey to step out of his pants. He wobbled, would've fallen if not for Frank grabbing his waist before it happened. Mikey stayed limp for a moment, breathing faint but warm in Frank's ear. Then he stood up straighter and stumbled into the shower by himself. Frank sat down on the toilet seat and stared at the wall. Of course Mikey wasn't Gerard, but what did that _mean_? He sighed and leaned back against the wall, let his eyes slip shut briefly.

###

"I had a bad dream," Gerard said quietly when Frank slipped into bed next to him.

It was late (or early, depending on how you looked at it), too late for Gerard to still be awake. There was a tiny bit of light, just enough to illuminate the line of his jaw and his wide eyes. He looked almost otherworldly like this, in the dark with bedhair and a glint of green in his irises. Frank didn't say anything, waited for him to elaborate and curled up closer to Gerard's warmth. He breathed in and relished the smell of Gerard, just Gerard, no alcohol or weed or cocaine. A hand wrapped around him immediately, like it was instinct, and Gerard began talking.

"It...I mean, I've had nightmares before, but this was worse. It felt like I was dying, it felt like someone had their hands around my throat. I couldn't- I couldn't breathe, Frankie," Gerard whispered, holding Frank close enough to squeeze all the air out of his lungs. Couldn't breathe seemed to apply to all of- Frank stilled as he realised what must have happened. Mikey and Gerard's connection still stood when one of them was unconscious, then. He'd seen Mikey's choking panic with his own eyes, couldn't even begin to imagine what it'd be like to experience it mentally.

Shit. He didn't say it out loud, but he certainly still meant it in every sense of the word. This... this life they had, where one of them was self-destructive and the other was desperately trying to hold things together, it clearly wasn't working. There had to be an intervention  somewhere. He just didn't want to do it, but... it was becoming necessary. If he could chop off their mental link, he would. But he couldn't. Which meant Frank had to come up with some sort of alternative idea.

"I saw people dying, Frank," Gerard continued, unaware of Frank's thoughts, and he was shaking, just slightly. "I saw _Mikey_ dying." This was bad, then. Gerard tended to avoid talking about Mikey when he could, gave his brother guilty looks when he thought Mikey wasn't looking.

"He's okay, Gee. It's alright."

"But it's _not_."

"Shh, it is, I saw Mikey a few minutes ago," Frank comforted. "He had really bad bedhair and it looked hilarious."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. One hundred percent, Gee. He went to bed."

Gerard didn't stop shaking, but he stopped talking, which worried Frank. "Go to sleep," he said, pressing a kiss to Gerard's slightly sweaty forehead. "I'll go check on him again if you want me to, Gee."

"Okay," Gerard said, soft. "Okay, thank you, Frankie, thank you so much."

"I just don't want him to _hurt_ ," he heard Gerard mumble into the pillow.

###

It came to the end when Frank caught Gerard in the bathroom with a blade.

Of course, his first reaction was to kick it right out of Gerard's hand and punch him right in the face for being so stupid, but as he paused in the doorway he was nearly knocked over. He stumbled back, grabbing the doorframe for balance, and witnessed what was probably the most heartbreaking reunion he'd ever seen. Like, even Ray seeing Christa after six months didn't make Frank's chest go all tight and painful.

Gerard looked up from the floor dazedly at Mikey, who was pale as a ghost. Aside from that, he was barely clothed in a pair of boxers and shirt, eyeliner smudged crazily around his eyes until it looked like he was imitating a raccoon. Messy bandages that no one talked about wound around his thin wrists and legs, looking like ethereal tendrils binding him together. Frank blinked. Hadn't Mikey been snoring on the couch a few seconds ago. Gerard was just gazing at him like he'd summoned God himself, a little wide-eyed but fluid enough that when Mikey swiped clumsily for the blade Gerard held it out of the way.

What the _fuck_ was going on?

"Does it help?" Gerard's voice was high, desperate. "If I'm hurting you don't have to, right? You'll be okay?"

Mikey didn't answer, and Frank couldn't imagine there _was_ an answer to that question, certainly not a correct one. There never were right answers when it came to these kinds of things. Instead there was a tense moment of silence. Gerard clearly thought that before, in the early days, his depression had kept Mikey focused and alive. Frank didn't have the heart to tell him that focus and the trying to survive a human life were entirely different things, and he didn't think Mikey did either. There were just no words, not even from famous lyricists, that could even begin to twist around the dragon of the darkness of human emotion.

He saw the younger Way brother's shoulders slump, and then Mikey was sinking to the floor next to Gerard, reaching for the blade. This time, Gerard relinquished it and Mikey tossed it aside violently before burying his face in Gerard's neck. Frank heard a few loud, shuddering breaths and Gerard was hugging Mikey tight, tears brimming in his eyes. Mikey made a loud sobbing noise and Frank flashed back to the time Gerard got clean for real, thought about the desperation and hurt and bewilderment. Gerard echoed Mikey's crying silently, smoothing a hand down his brother's knotted hair and dampening it with tears.

"I'm sorry," Mikey croaked.

"I'm so sorry, Mikes, I'm so sorry, I said I'd never leave you," Gerard babbled. "I'm not gonna, I promise, never ever. I'm sorry for making you hurt."

Frank saw Mikey's hands tighten on Gerard, bunching up his shirt like he could physically hold Gerard here with him. Realistically, he probably couldn't because he'd tried to pick up his guitar the other day and failed. Frank bit his lip. He wanted to turn and leave, because this was far too personal for him to be seeing, but he couldn't make himself leave. Mikey let out a small distraught noise and Gerard sniffed hard.

"'f you die, I'm gonna die too," Mikey mumbled.

"Do I die if _you_ do?"

Mikey froze. Frank saw it happen immediately, the younger Way brother's spine going ramrod straight. Gerard looked up at him with slight concerned. Because clearly this had never occurred to Mikey, who was ridiculously self-destructive at the moment. The idea that his own path to death was linked with the man he'd been trying to save was obviously not a variable in his mind. Mikey shifted a little bit and let go of Gerard, and he turned slightly and Frank could see the flickers of emotion in his eyes.

Mikey still didn't answer the question, just got up and walked past Frank like he'd seen a ghost, face almost white. Frank himself couldn't imagine what was actually going through Mikey's head at this point - probably some sort of guilt and fear - but when Mikey's bedroom door shut with a click, he turned his head back to Gerard. He was still sprawled on the floor, hair sticking up at crazy angles and tear tracks down his face. There was a soft intake of breath, and then those bright hazel eyes met his.

"I don't want to die, Frank," Gerard said quietly.

###

Frank rolled over in his own bed, pressed his face against the pillows in the hopes they'd smother his thoughts. He didn't feel like Gerard wanted company tonight (he didn't know if he wanted _Gerard's_ company tonight), so he'd gone to his own bed. He had slept in it maybe once, so the bed didn't smell like smoke or B.O (or Gerard) and it was cold and uncomfortable. Not to mention there was a crow right outside his window that kept yelling. He turned to eye the bedside clock. Three am. Not the time to be conscious at all. He let out a muffled groan into the pillow.

"...Frank?"

Frank sighed. "What, Gee?"

There was a tiny cough and he realised with a muted shock that it wasn't Gerard standing at his bed, giving off nervous vibes. He'd just expected it to be, so he hadn't listened to the flatter inflection of voice, the tense aura surrounding them. It was that he was used to Gerard crawling in his bed already babbling his head off, not having _Mikey_ hover over him, expression somewhere between trepidation and unease. He rolled onto his back and sat up, looking up at Mikey. The younger Way brother seemed to be waiting for an acknowledgment of his presence, shifting from foot to foot silently.

The light caught the sheen of silver in his eyes, inhuman, but there was also something in his face that was painfully human, enough for Frank to pull back the sheets and shift over slightly. Mikey looked at Frank for a few seconds blankly, like he didn't comprehend. Frank patted the pillow next to him and stared, and Mikey looked uncomfortable and then sat down gingerly. He couldn't help the snorting laugh that escaped him then. Mikey looked so out of place, knees bent and hands pressed flat against the sheets.

"What's up," Frank said finally.

Mikey looked at him like Frank was the one who had crawled into his bed at three in the morning. He wasn't entirely sure what that expression meant, just like most of Mikey's expressions. Frank raised one eyebrow but didn't say anything more, and Mikey let out a sigh and leaned his head back against the headboard. There were just close enough that Mikey's bruised elbow was in contact with the soft part of Frank's side. He realised he was only wearing his underwear and shifted slightly, but didn't move away.

"I need to go to therapy," Mikey said after a few minutes.

"...you sure?"

"I've got to get better. For him."

"For you," Frank corrected.

Mikey looked confused for a second - or at least as confused as Mikey could ever look - and Frank raised the other eyebrow.

"You're not Gerard, Mikey," Frank elaborated, echoing Mikey's own earlier words. "That's half the problem."

Mikey still looked blank.

"He can't die for you, and you can't live for him," Frank said hesitantly. There was some understanding in Mikey's eyes now, and he turned his face up to the ceiling and sighed. He looked... kind of pretty like this, the faint light silvery on his skin and his eyes dark. He picked at the bandages on his wrist idly and looked back at Frank. He seemed to be waiting for something, but Frank didn't have any more weird spacey advice for him. Just support. Because even if Mikey pushed him away sometimes, Frank was willing to reach out and help.

"If you think it'll help, you should go," Frank said.

"I... think it will," Mikey said quietly.

"That's that, then," Frank answered. "But... why'd you come to me about it?"

"'cause," Mikey said, eyes half-closed. "You're 's much of his pr'tector as I am."

"I..."

"Prom'se you'll look after him, Frank. Promise," Mikey mumbled, rolling onto his side so their faces were close. Frank tried to meet his eyes but Mikey's were drifting, over the space behind Frank's shoulder and the sheets and Frank himself. For once, Mikey didn't smell like a drug addict or a corpse, he just smelled like soap and smoke and _guy_. Frank was so oddly surprised by Mikey's scent he didn't move when the younger Way brother closed the difference between them and pressed his lips to Frank's. Frank would've reacted in some way - he didn't know what - but Mikey was already moving away and settling on the bed, eyes closing.   

"I promise," Frank whispered.

Mikey's lips curled slightly in an exhausted smile, and he fell asleep right there, close enough that Frank could feel his subtle body heat. Frank didn't fall asleep. He had no idea what Mikey meant.  He had no idea what that _kiss_ meant at all.

The worst part was, he kind of wanted to do it again.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N; Sorry for the wait. Did you know this entire fic was inspired by one song? Guess which one it is.

###

Gerard didn't like Mikey being away from him.

He understood why it had to happen, still felt something cold in his chest every time he thought about what was in Mikey's head. He didn't want to admit that the emptiness and desire to end everything frightened him, because then he'd be a hypocrite. After all, he was the one that had started all of this.  But it _did_ terrify him. It terrified him to the ends of the earth and back, more than any crappy horror movie had ever done. Because he had no idea how to fix it, how to fix any of it. And if he couldn't fix it, what use was he to Mikey? Mikey had saved him a million times, and Gerard was just... there. Dead weight.

He tapped his bitten fingernails against the wood of the dining table. Ray looked up at him, that mix of care and concern he always had on his face directly aimed at Gerard. They were supposed to be working on the album, on the songs, but he was stuck again. Frank was visiting Mikey again. Gerard never went, and Ray only visited every two weeks or so, but Frank... Frank insisted on staying with Mikey at least one night out of four. Gerard appreciated it, because now he'd started focusing more on their connection and Mikey's emotions, he could tell that Mikey lit up a little inside every time Frank was there. It felt like something fizzing in his stomach, like butterflies and fireworks and popping candy all at once and he knew exactly what it meant.

It wasn't exactly surprising they'd fall for the same person, especially when said person was Frank Iero, but that didn't make it any easier. One of them was always cold and lonely and it hurt, it physically _hurt_ to be like this. Even now, Gerard could feel them, could tell that Mikey was sitting on a corduroy couch with his head in Frank's lap while they watched a movie. Frank kept petting Mikey, stroking gentle fingers down his arm and up into his hair and down to tangle with his fingers again. There was a buzz of contentedness there, something soft and warm and Gerard couldn't have it as well.

"It's for the best," Gerard mumbled to himself.

"Hm?" Ray said.

"Nothing," he replied. "Nothing."

"Okay," came the doubtful answer. "What did you write here? 'This Is How I Disappear'...?"

"It's...um."

It hadn't had a title when he'd written it. Someone else had obviously done it for him. Gerard didn't look at Ray as the man silently read the badly scrawled words, stared out the window and clutched his boiling coffee a little closer, like it'd protect him from his own head. He had written it the night he'd tried to hurt himself for Mikey, amidst his hot tears and shaking hands. It was too raw, too honest. It hurt to read, like he'd written it with the dark parts of his heart that were too sharp and jagged for human eyes to see. Still, he didn't stop until the words were on the notebook paper, incoherent and painful but _there_. Then he'd crumpled it up and thrown it in the corner of the bathroom before going to bed.

The next morning, it had appeared in front of Ray along with all the other lyric drafts.

Gerard didn't know how it had happened - he had his suspicions, but it could have been Frank _or_ Mikey, or even both of them. He didn't know for sure. But Ray kept careful inventory of all the things he collected from Gerard, so there was no chance of retrieving it at all. Which meant he was just going to have to sit here and suffer theough it until Ray was done picking out what to use for the album. They only had one song decided right now- a sadistic joke that had turned into a real song. Gerard still wasn't sure if he liked 'DEAD!' or not. Ray had set aside the folded paper coloured in orange - looked like 'Sleep' was going to be on the album too.

"Is this about Mikey or Frank?"

"It's..."

"Both?" Ray's eyebrows rose a little.

Gerard tried not to look ashamed of himself. It was greedy, and selfish, and he really didn't deserve either of them. Frank and Mikey were like forces of nature and he was just...Gerard. He couldn't ever match up to them.

"Well, it'd be hard to find any other three people that love each other as much as you guys," Ray said finally. "Whatever connects you, it's ridiculous, dude. I'm so jealous."

"Jealous...?"

"Sure, it's been rough, but you three, you'd die for each other in a second. You're unbreakable."

"But we're not..."

"Maybe go visit Mikey. Spend some time with him. Fix whatever you two messed up. Frank's probably going to kill you himself if you don't."

Gerard felt a tiny smile break free onto his face, like a tiny ray of sunshine in the middle of a storm.

Ray threw him the car keys.

###

There were many things Gerard still didn't get about their odd three-way relationship, but Frank seemed happier, at least. Gerard had a sneaking suspicion that Frank was just ignoring the bubbling nerves between Gerard and Mikey in the hopes they'd sort it out themselves. Gerard visited every few days with Frank now, but he and Mikey never really _talked_. And Frank still had to divide his time at night between them.

"Love you guys," he said affectionately, pressing a sloppy kiss to Gerard's cheek. Frank was a little high right now, but it was okay because he didn't use it to shut everything out, just for a buzz. He was one hundred percent fine like this, lax and sleepy and sprawled out with his feet in Mikey's lap and his bony hips jabbing into Gerard's stomach. Mikey poked at Frank's toes where he'd previously painted them green, and Frank made a grumpy noise in his throat and snuggled into Gerard's unzipped hoodie. That was when Mikey got up and padded out of the room absently, scratching at one scarred wrist. He didn't have to wear bandages anymore, but there was always going to be evidence of what had happened.

"G'rard."

"Yeah, Frankie?"

"You should talk t' Mikey."

"I do talk to Mikey."

"Not jus' hello and goodbye, stupid," Frank mumbled against his collarbone. "Talk f'r real."

"I'm scared," he confessed, hiding his face in Frank's unruly mop of hair. It was getting long.

"'s okay." Frank snuggled closer. "He loves you."

"I love him, too."

"Are you guys gonna like, kiss or...?"

"I don't know." Gerard's face heated up slightly, remembering drunken nights when he'd fall on Mikey accidentally and they'd both be trashed and consider sleeping with each other just because. That time on the bus, Mikey's hips flush against his through the rough scratch of denim. The times they'd gone for it but had gotten distracted by the coke or the whiskey or the weed, the drugs and the haze and the smog. He wasn't afraid to admit his love for Mikey wasn't entirely platonic, but that didn't make it any easier. There was just too much between them for it to work, surely.

"It isn' incest."

"It isn't _what_? Frank!"

"You're not brothers, n't really. Jus' got the same soul."

Gerard opened his mouth to retort, to list all the reasons he'd given himself about why he and Mikey weren't ever going to be happy with each other, but Frank was already asleep, breathing warmly on his neck. Gerard shifted so Frank would sleep more comfortably, and that's when he noticed Mikey was standing in the doorway, watching them. It was still weird, meeting his eyes instead of shying away or making an excuse to avoid him. But maybe Frank was right.

"You gonna just stand in the doorway?"

A flicker of amusement through the bond. "I was going to bed, actually."

 _No. Come back. Stay with me._ He didn't say the words. Mikey didn't hear them.

Gerard watched him walk away, and clutched at Frank a little tighter. _Talk to him. Don't let it stay like this._ Frank made a snuffling noise and his fingers squeezed Gerard's sleeve unconsciously. Gerard looked down at him, at the delicate features of his face and the slight frown he wore. Probably dreaming about something strange; those creepy dreams seemed to be contagious. Although they were never as vivid as that one in the mansion, the one where he was choking and dying. The terror, he referred to it as, because there had been nothing more frightening than that single dream, that single experience. The experience he had realised was _Mikey's_ through the bond.

"If he dies, I'll die too. Supernaturally or not," he confessed, face hidden in the soft locks of Frank's hair.

Frank let out an obnoxious snoring noise, and then Gerard's phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Where's Mikey?"

"Pete...?" Why was Pete Wentz looking for Mikey? And from the voice in the background, it sounded like Patrick Stump was too.

"Where's Mikey, Gerard?"

"We're at the rehab facility," Gerard answered tiredly.

The answer he received contained far more swear words than even he used on a daily basis. Gerard flinched away from the phone receiver and nearly kneed Frank in the process. Luckily, Frank just snuggled his way closer and remained blissfully unconscious. Pete continued to incoherently hurl insulting gibberish until there was a loud crash, a grunt of pain, and the slamming of a door. Gerard sat in stunned silence. Why was Pete Wentz so strange? And had someone just _attacked_ him?

"Would you be able to give me the address for this facility, Gerard?" Patrick asked, far more polite than Pete. Oh. So that's what had happened.

"I... er, yeah, sure. But why do you want to see Mikey?"

"We're his friends. Pete won't believe Mikey's texts claiming he's alright until he sees him in the flesh. And we need to talk."

"What do you want to talk to him about?"

"No, not Mikey. You."

"Me?"

###

The minute Pete Wentz arrived he was already swinging a fist at Gerard, lips curled in a vicious and frankly frightening snarl. Gerard ducked hastily and Pete was yanked back by Patrick. Gerard fell over gracelessly, resisting the urge to curl into a ball and hide. "Behave," Patrick ordered his bassist, before stepping over Gerard and pulling Pete with him. Pete tried to stand on Gerard's fingers, but he was pulled off-balance again. Gerard pretended he was invisible so Pete wouldn't hurt him. Jesus _Christ_ , was he possessed by the devil?!

"It's his fault," he heard Pete hiss.

"No it's not. Stop being a child," Patrick answered tiredly. "And apologize."

"No."

"Peter. _Apologize_."

Gerard peeked up at half of Fall Out Boy nervously, half-expecting a kick to the face. Pete was regarding him silently with dark eyes, his expression some odd mixture of distaste, anxiety and fear. _Fear_? Patrick glanced between the two of them, and Gerard saw his hand tighten visibly on Pete's hood like a warning. Pete seemed to pause, closing his eyes for a split second before he sighed.

"I suppose if I killed you, then Mikey's condition after that would be my fault," Pete said roughly, offering him a hand.

Gerard hesitated, looking at the chipped nail polish and scars on Pete's tanned wrist. And then he thought of Mikey, looked down at the web of scars on his own wrist, and took Pete's hand. The bassist hauled him up without any sign of effort, despite being quite a bit smaller. The movement put their faces a mere few inches away, and Gerard could see the messy smear of his eyeliner, the haphazard way his hoodie had been put on without a shirt, the bedhair that didn't look as styled as usual. The worry on his face, the stress and panic and completely frazzled look in his eyes. He was _scared_ , the same kind of scared Gerard had felt when Mikey was hurting himself and he couldn't do anything. Gerard glanced to the side and saw redness around Patrick's eyes, his shirt buttoned wrong.

"He's in the room up the hall, to the right. I left Frank with him, they're asleep," Gerard said quietly.

Pete whipped around, marching in the direction he had pointed, and Gerard followed him. After a moment, Patrick's footsteps trailed after them as well. Pete nudged the door open silently and slid in through the gap, and then Patrick's hand landed on Gerard's shoulder. Gerard turned to him.

"Your bond with Mikey, it's getting too weak," Patrick stated.

"My...?"

"Your bond." Patrick adjusted his hat and shifted so he could see into Mikey's bedroom. Gerard glanced over as well, saw Mikey and Frank curled together on one side of the bed, leaving a large space on the left side. Pete had kneeled down beside them, was holding Mikey's hand with a distressed expression. As they watched, Mikey's eyes opened sleepily and he mumbled something Gerard couldn't make out. Pete shook his head and leaned forward to kiss Mikey's forehead. Mikey lifted his head a little at that, blearily stared at Pete, who smiled.

"I should probably be jealous, but I'm not," Patrick said thoughtfully.

"Jealous of Mikey?"

"Mm. But he's yours. Always has been."

"He's not my _property_."

"He's still yours. And I'm Pete's."

At that, Gerard turned his head to Patrick and caught a telltale shimmer of silver in his eyes. Oh. _Oh_. So Patrick was... "You and Pete are...?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"That's why we came here," Patrick replied. "Or, at least, I did - Pete came here because he loves Mikey to pieces."

Gerard glanced back at Pete and Mikey, who were whispering to each other quietly. Mikey still had one arm wrapped tightly around Frank, who was still asleep, pale face barely visible.

"What am I supposed to do, Patrick?" Gerard said helplessly. "I hurt him."

"I'm not Mikey's mind reader, but all I can remember before Pete and I started communicating properly is feeling alone. It's cold, and it hurts."

Gerard didn't have anything to say to that. Patrick crossed his arms like he was pretending to be brave, and lifted his chin to look Gerard in the eye. He wasn't intimidating, really, not at all, especially when it looked like he'd been crying, but there was something steely and immovable in his expression that made his words cut like a blade.

"Two halves don't make a whole until they're together, Gerard," Patrick said before pushing the bedroom door open more and striding in. Mikey looked up and smiled at the redhead, something fragile but beautiful, and Gerard felt his heart crack. Goddamnit. He couldn't live like this. And what about Frank? Frank, who even now was greeting Patrick and Pete from the curl of Mikey's arms, likely not wearing any clothes and even less likely to care. Gerard felt his hand clench on the wall, nails scratching the paint. He couldn't. It wasn't- he didn't know how to fix any of this.

"Get in here," Patrick ordered, and everyone in the room looked at him.

"I-" his voice cracked on the first syllable.

"It's late and it's fuckin' cold, Gee, get in here," Frank grumbled.

Gerard looked at Mikey quietly, anxiety building its way up his chest and into his throat until he couldn't drag in any oxygen. Mikey didn't say anything either, his hair sticking up all over the place and looking like he hadn't rested in years. Gerard still stayed in the doorway, frozen. What if Mikey didn't want him at all? What if he'd decided it wasn't worth the trouble, the pain? Who could blame him. When you shared a soul every tiny little ugly part of you was bare to the other person like you were under a microscope, being examined constantly. It was nerve-wrecking and after the things Mikey had probably seen, why would he bother with Gerard Way?

_It's okay._

Mikey's voice flickered through his head, gentle and rough at the same time, and Gerard flinched. How long had it been since they'd even tried to speak to each other like this?

_It's okay, Gerard. Come here._

_But I'm scared, Mikey._

_I'm scared too. But maybe... maybe we should try anyway._

_What if it doesn't work out? What if it makes things worse?_

_We have to try._

Mikey's hand patted the Gerard-shaped space on the bed, and he wondered if that hadn't been intentional. Frank perked his head up, eyes wide and curious, not quite awake yet but definitely more alert. Pete let go of Mikey's hand and reached back for Patrick's instead, standing up and glancing at Gerard as well.

"I- I just- I'm-"

"Gee," Mikey said, soft and nearly inaudible. "Get your ass over here."

Gerard got his ass over there.

The bed was soft, and he kicked off his shoes and sat down gingerly. Immediately there were hands on him, pushing off his jacket and overshirt, leaving him in a Pumpkins tee, jeans and socks. He didn't notice Patrick and Pete had left until he looked up, met Mikey's dark stare. For the first time he could remember, it didn't look like Mikey's expression had some secret meaning, something hidden, it just seemed like he was... _looking_ at Gerard. Just looking. Gerard glanced at Mikey's free hand, his own fingers twitching.

Frank let out a huff, grabbed his hand, and put it on top of Mikey's. "There," he said, and even though Frank didn't have some magic suicide bond or psychic powers, he had something that was so _Frank_ that they both needed. Like he was a missing link they didn't even know they had. Because Frank was always there, looking after both of them, pushing them together when they were ready. He was Frank, and Gerard could feel the same nervous affection radiating from Mikey as the emotion he felt himself.

"Fuck me, I'm tired."

"How can you be tired," Mikey said.

"You literally just slept for half the day," Gerard finished the sentence without even thinking.

Frank grinned and pulled them both down flat onto the sheets, snuggling in between them. Automatically, Gerard put an arm over his waist. Frank shifted and let out a comfortable sigh. Mikey blinked at him a little amusedly and rolled onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. Gerard watched the silver flecks in his eyes.

"Maybe we should just not try to hurt ourselves anymore," Mikey said. "Emotionally or physically."

"Yeah," Gerard agreed.

Mikey rolled over so he was facing Gerard again. "It's never going to be that simple, but we can try, right?"

"Yeah."

Mikey closed his eyes and his hand, still linked with Gerard's, squeezed lightly. _We're not better, but we're better than we were and that's something._

_Now all we have to do is prevent any more self-harm._

_I mean, I was already the 'Suicide Prevention Squad,' as Frank called it._

_Well, now we're all in the squad. Okay?_

_Okay._

_No more hurting?_

_No more. Promise._

###

"Guys, show starts in ten! People want to see the Killjoys, not their techs!"

"Mm, _uh_ \- give us a minute!"

"Hey, Gee. Gee. Gerard."

Gerard turned his attention away from the aggrieved venue manager behind the door to focus on things more important. Mikey wriggled against him, panting softly in Gerard's ear as his thighs wrapped around Gerard's waist. His skin was so warm it was almost burning against Gerard's. The leather of the couch in the dressing room was slick with sweat, and Gerard could have sworn his hair dye was dripping. It felt like all the oxygen in the room had been ripped out until there was nothing but heat and sweat. Mikey's newly-blonde hair was plastered to his face, and Frank's breath on the back of his neck was far too hot.

"I heard you, when you were- when you tried to go, the first time," Mikey breathed out, face flushed. "You didn't want to be alone."

They hadn't talked about that for so long. Gerard froze a little, remembering, but then Mikey was twisting up so he could brush their lips together, kiss chastely. "You don't have to be," Mikey said, the words barely audible, a buzz against Gerard's lips. "You and me and...Frank, if he wants, we've got you, Gee."

" _Oh_ , Frank wants," Frank agreed, fingers hooking in Gerard's belt loops to pull his hips back roughly so they were pressed together. Gerard let out a startled gasp against Mikey's cheek, scratching himself on stubble.

" _Goddamnit_ , you guys, stop having sex and get the hell out here! We're on now!"

"Ugh," Mikey grumbled.

"He's right," Gerard said reluctantly.

"You'd be easier to agree with if you weren't still _grinding your ass on me_ ," Frank whined.

"Sorry," Gerard said, although he really wasn't.

"I'll just get off onstage again, then," Frank grumbled. "The kids'll enjoy that."

"No," Mikey said. " _No_. Not again. Fuckin' Frerard. What about me?"

"I don't know, what about you? I'll buy you a soda?"

"He gets you coming on him and I get a _soda_?"

"I'm leaving without you two," Gerard cut in, opening the door and realising his pants were still unzipped. Whoops. "Come on, let's go."

###

"You ever have those people," Gerard yelled at the crowds of kids screaming at him. "You ever have those people that you'd die for, you love 'em that much?"

He got an uproarious agreement. Frank settled against his back, sweaty and with the neck of his guitar poking into Gerard's shoulderblade. He could feel Mikey's amusement from further back on the stage, the way the bond started radiating interest in what he was saying.

"Well, death isn't an option, not with us. No one has to die. No one gets left behind. No one is _alone_!"

"We're the goddamn suicide prevention squad and we're here to save lives, motherfuckers," Frank said over Gerard's shoulder.

"This one's called Sing and you all have to sing along or I'll come to your house and suck your blood," Gerard added, turning around. Mikey smiled, sunlight flooding the bond, and Frank grinned and started strumming.


End file.
